


The House and the Home

by actualite



Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:32:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualite/pseuds/actualite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before Thanksgiving, Salty inadvertently walks in on something and makes a decision that may change Ian Kinsler's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The House and the Home

**Author's Note:**

> Rather than use real fraternities I decided to borrow the fictional universe of Cypress Rhodes University and their Greek Life from the TV show _Greek_. This isn't really a crossover, however, since none of the characters from _Greek_ appear here.

As Salty nears the Omega Chi Delta house he can hear the predictable sound of House of Pain's "Jump Around" reverberating down the street. He's kind of over parties like this but Kason is here and he's got Salty's car keys, which Salty will need in the morning to drive home for Thanksgiving. He walks through the yard, which is eerily tidy for the kind of party that Salty is pretty sure is going on inside. Then he sees a drunk girl stumbling toward him.

"Heyyy," she says, putting her arms on his shoulders and blowing her stale alcohol breath right in Salty's face.

"Hi," he says, leaning back and gently detaching her arms.

"Where are you going?" she calls after him, sounding wistful.

Salty doesn't bother answering and gets to the door.

This is more like it. There's a heavy smell of vomit and weed permeating everything, and there are people everywhere jumping and stumbling into each other to the beat of the music. It's nearly 1am and it looks like things have progressed to the point where some townie on the other side of the fence is going to call the police on them for having a party like this on a Wednesday night--the night before Thanksgiving, no less. Salty quickly scans the front rooms for Kason.

"Saltlick!" someone shouts over the loud beat, and Salty sees Clay Buchholz, his arm around two Tri-Pi girls who've lost their tops but not their bras, moving toward him. "You made it," he says, taking his arm off of one of the girls and leaning in to do the hand-clasp back-slap thing.

"Buch," Salty says. "You seen Kason anywhere?"

"Jason who?" Clay says. 

Salty knows that Clay remembers who Kason is perfectly well but Clay is enough of a snob to ignore the existence of anyone who isn't worth his notice, and since Kason was kicked off the baseball team last year, he has ceased to exist. Salty himself draws scouts to nearly every game so even though he's not really into this scene he doesn't get any shit from anybody, at least not to his face.

"Forget it," Salty says.

"Hey, grab yourself a beer. Relax. Ladies, you know Jarrod, don't you? Salty, this here is Amber, and this one's--what was your name again?"

"Lindsay," they both say in unison.

Salty doesn't know which one is which and he really has no desire to figure it out. "Hi," he says reluctantly.

"Hey," they say in unison. They're both a little shiny, sweat beaded all over their skin, and he already knows that if he gets close enough he'll smell that sickly sweet and sour mixture of body spray, hair products, alcohol and B.O. that is probably emanating from them. He tries not to step back too quickly.

"Listen, I've gotta find Kason, I'll see you at practice next week," he says to Clay. He knows Clay is only being friendly because he's drunk.

"More for the rest of us, then," Clay says, leering at the blond one, who laughs and tosses her hair a little. "You girls gonna make out for me?"

Salty turns away in disgust. He has no problem admitting that the first few parties like this he attended were a revelation, and he's had his share of good wank sessions thinking about two girls just like this rubbing up against each other. But seeing the same thing over and over at every party for two years has made it all seem really tired and, worse, sordid. When he'd first arrived at Cypress Rhodes he had really wanted to pledge Omega Chi Delta, just like everyone did, but now he's glad he ended up where he did. The Lambda Sigs may be jocks but they're mostly dumb enough to be harmless and they leave Salty alone, whereas the Omega Chis have a reputation for athletic excellence but are also known to cultivate in all of their members an attitude of ambition, entitlement, ruthlessness, lack of principle, and enough intelligence to hide all of the rest behind an exterior of upstanding virtue. Frankly, even setting foot in their house gives Salty the creeps.

He drifts away from Clay and his girls and continues navigating the crush of bodies, his height giving him a good vantage point from which to look for Kason. Not seeing him in the lower rooms, Salty heads upstairs, thinking he might have sequestered himself with some piece of ass who's too drunk to know better. He knocks on a door and looks in, seeing several people huddled around a small table, probably doing lines, but none of them is Kason. Then he looks in on several empty rooms with open doors, one in which a couple are making out, and then he gets to a closed door at the end of the hallway.

Without thinking much about it Salty turns the door handle and walks in, and then he stops, staring at the sight he's greeted with.

He recognizes the two people immediately. One is Josh Hamilton, president of the InterVarsity Christian Fellowship chapter at Cypress Rhodes, and the other is Ian Kinsler.

Ian is lying on his stomach on the bed, his legs dangling over the side, and Josh had been in the middle of pulling his pants off. They both look over at Salty when they hear the door open, and Josh immediately stands up and backs away from Kinsler.

"What the hell?" he says.

Salty just stares for a moment. "Yeah," he says finally. "What the hell?" Maybe he should've just backed right out and apologized, but he can sense immediately that something here is not right.

"I was just--he's completely wasted," Josh says quickly. "I was just getting him into bed--"

Salty doesn't say anything, still shocked. He looks over at Ian and sees Ian blinking up at him. He's made no move to jump up and pull his pants back on, just lies there, his ass exposed, looking dreamy.

Salty turns back to Josh, starting to realize what is really happening here. He feels his hands clench into fists at his sides but he doesn't move.

"What?" Josh says, having stopped stumbling over an explanation, and starting to look angry. "What the fuck are you looking at?"

"Get the fuck out of here," Salty says roughly.

They glare at each other for a moment, and Salty feels adrenaline pumping through him. All he wants is an excuse to put Josh's face through the wall. He thinks of all the people who always follow Josh around and attend his Bible studies and the way he takes advantage of their misdirected feelings of worship.

Finally Josh's gaze falters. "Alright," he says, and he moves quickly past Salty, bumping his shoulder against Salty's purposefully. "Maybe you should fucking knock next time." He slinks out of the room and Salty relaxes his hands, looking back over at Ian.

Ian's eyes are closed, but he's still lying on the bed with his pants around his knees.

Salty doesn't know what to do; something in him doesn't want to just leave Ian here like this. He doesn't even know if this is Ian's room. Suddenly he starts to doubt what he was sure of a moment ago. Maybe it was consensual; maybe Josh and Ian do this all the time even when they're sober.

Truthfully, he's come to think of Ian as kind of a douchebag. He's one of the core group of Omega Chis, the ones who only date girls in Zeta Beta Zeta but fuck just about anything in a skirt. Salty doesn't know him all that well but he always sees Ian at parties like this, high or drunk or both, being loud and obnoxious and even cruel, sometimes, though mostly just joining in when his friends start something. He doesn't know why he always feels a sharp disappointment when he sees Ian that way, since they aren't even friends.

Salty is about to leave when Ian opens his eyes and looks up at Salty, his big brown irises looking strangely bright.

"Did you still want to put your dick in my mouth?" he says, his voice low and a little husky.

Salty is embarrassed to realize that, coming from Ian, this is a strangely exciting question. He thought he'd been inured to phrases like that uttered by mindless drunk people at parties a while ago.

"Uh," he says. "Do you even know who I am?"

"Sure," Ian says. He looks back at himself, moving his head slightly but apparently not energetic enough to actually lift it. "You took my pants off," he says. "Why'd you do that?"

"I didn't," Salty says quickly. Apparently Ian thinks he's Josh. They do look kind of alike, unfortunately.

Ian wiggles his ass a little, as if he's trying to scoot his knees up enough to reach for his pants and pull them back up, but he frowns when he's unable to reach them.

Salty stares at Ian's ass, unable to look away as Ian lifts it off the bed and shakes it around a little. It's very pale but also very pert. His hips are bony -- he's bony all over, really, and his legs are very scrawny - but his ass cheeks look soft and very round.

Salty gives himself a mental shake. He can't believe where his mind is going.

"Is this your room?" Salty says. If so, maybe he can leave and convince Ian to lock it behind him, at least until he sobers up.

Ian looks confused for a minute. Then his eyes move slowly around the room. "No," he says.

"Where's your room?" Salty says.

Ian closes his eyes again, and for several seconds he's just lying there, his ass in the air, like he's going to fall asleep that way.

Salty can't leave Ian like this, so he walks over to the bed and reaches for Ian's pants.

Ian flops over against him as Salty tugs the pants up like Ian is an infant. He seems to be drifting in and out of consciousness as Salty buckles his belt for him. When Salty finishes he lets go of Ian, who immediately flops down bonelessly on the bed and then starts to laugh strangely.

"I'm not a fag," he says.

Salty doesn't answer, hoisting himself up from the bed and getting ready to leave.

"I'm not a fag!" Ian says again, insistently.

"Alright, alright," Salty says, as soothingly as he can. "It's okay."

"No," Ian says, and then his eyes start watering. "It's not okay, it's fucking--I hate--"

"Shit," Salty says. "Are you crying?"

"Where am I?" Ian says suddenly. He puts his hand to his forehead and scrunches his eyes shut for a moment, as if he's trying very hard to get hold of himself. "I don't know what the fuck is happening. I'm so confused."

Salty has never seen Ian this way. He's seen him trashed, he's even seen him so sick that he vomited all over a girl's rack in front of everyone. But he's never, ever seemed helpless like this. There was always a defiant tenacity about him, as if even when he wasn't in control of his body he could turn that to his advantage. Here, now, he just looks sick and lost and afraid, his face flushed, his cheeks hollow, his eyes wide and frantic.

"What did you take?" Salty says.

"Take?" Ian says. "I didn't fucking take anything." He struggles to sit up, heaving his body up three time before he can finally get his center of gravity high enough that his torso lurches forward. "I want to leave here," he says. "This isn't--I don't like this."

Salty wonders if he should go find one of Ian's fraternity brothers. It's sounding more and more like Ian was drugged, and this could be bad.

"Do you want me to go get someone?" Salty says.

"No!" Ian says forcefully. Then he grabs his head again, as if saying the word was painful. "No," he says, more quietly. "I just need to...figure out..."

His voice trails off and he starts falling forward like he's losing consciousness.

Salty darts forward, catching Ian before he can faceplant on the floor. "Hey, now," he says, propping Ian up. Ian slumps again, and Salty puts his hand to the back of Ian's neck to lower him gently back onto the bed.

"Were you roofied?" Salty mutters, mostly talking to himself, because Ian looks like he might be out for the count.

Ian lies there for a moment, completely inert, and Salty is again on his way out when he hears Ian say, "Where are you going?" in a kind of helpless, mewling little voice.

Salty turns back.

"I feel weird," Ian says unhappily.

Salty sighs. He can't leave Ian like this. He doesn't know why he feels any sense of obligation toward Ian, whom Salty has nothing against personally but whose friends are the kinds of guys who give everyone in the Greek system a bad reputation. Ian has been rude and dismissive of Salty the few times that they've actually had any face-to-face interaction, but Salty never held that against him, feeling sad instead of resentful every time.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks Ian, who is again blinking up at him slowly.

Ian doesn't answer.

"Okay, you don't want me to call anyone and you don't want me to leave. Do you live in the house?"

"Yeah," Ian says. "Yeah, I think I do."

"Where's your room? Is this your room?"

"I don't know," Ian says sadly. "Why don't I know?"

"I have to go back to my room," Salty says. "I have to get up early and drive to Palm Beach tomorrow."

"Don't leave me here," Ian says plaintively. "You can fuck me in the ass if you really want to."

Salty feels his ears redden. This is terrible. Terrible because Salty thinks he might actually enjoy that.

But not like this. He mentally shakes himself again. "Are you gonna say that to anyone who comes in here?" he says, his voice sounding a bit raspy even to his own ears.

"You can if you want," Ian repeats.

"You're in no shape for that," Salty says dryly. He thinks about running away from the strange feelings he's having as a result of Ian's offer but then the thought of Ian being so defenseless when any drunk frat dick could walk in and take advantage makes Salty feel a sense of responsibility. He can't believe Ian's friends would let this happen to anyone in their house, let alone one of their brothers.

"Okay, up you go," Salty says, reaching for Ian and pulling him up. "Can you walk?"

"Of course I can fucking walk," Ian says, almost angrily, but immediately his knees buckle.

"Here," Salty says, trying to support Ian, and they stumble toward to doorway but Ian is leaning hard on Salty and he's very heavy, much heavier than his slight frame looks. "Okay, this isn't working," Salty says.

He quickly bends over and puts his arm around Ian's waist, lifting him up onto one shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Ian actually giggles. "I'm hanging upside down," he says.

"This is the only way we're making it down the stairs," Salty grunts. Apparently the new weight training program he's been doing is good for something.

They go down the stairs and back into the mess of people. Ian is completely docile all the way, and Salty wonders if he's asleep. No one seems to even notice or care that Salty is taking an unconscious guy out on his shoulder.

Salty's getting a little tired once they're about a block away, but that's when he hears the sound of police sirens. He turns back to look, and sure enough, three squad cars pull up in front of the Omega Chi house. The sight of it pushes Salty to forge on and keep walking the two blocks to his own house. He's glad they won't be caught in that mess.

Salty keeps trudging on, the short distance between the Omega Chi house and the Lamdba Sig house seeming much longer than it really is. He gradually becomes aware of the way he's holding Ian's legs - one arm around Ian's knees and the other around Ian's upper thighs. Ian's ass is practically leaning against Salty's cheek. This is not how Salty imagined his night going.

Suddenly he hears a voice.

"You were in my Freshman Writing section," he hears Ian say against his back.

Salty is shocked for a moment. Ian sounds surprisingly lucid. Maybe he recognizes Salty now. Good. Salty doesn't want Ian to think he's the same person who was capable of drugging someone and raping him.

"You remember that?" he says. It was two years ago. Salty remembers Ian, of course--remembers him very well. "Didn't think you noticed me."

"I noticed," Ian says. "I notice lots of stuff."

"You didn't notice Josh Hamilton slipping a little something in your drink tonight."

There's no response from the little voice at his back. Either Ian is offended or he's unconscious again.

Finally they get to the Lamda Sig house. There's a couple of guys playing Madden downstairs, and they nod cursorily at Salty when he walks by, unfazed by the body he's carrying, but the house is pretty empty otherwise, everyone either out or already on their way home for Thanksgiving.

Salty almost doesn't know if he can make it up the stairs, his shoulders aching, but finally he makes it and pushes the door to his room open, stumbling forward to throw Ian down on Tommy's bed.

"There," he says, breathing hard, "you can crash on Tommy's bed. He's gone for the weekend already."

Ian's face is dark red from hanging upside down, but he's smiling with his mouth wide open.

"Is this where you live?" he says, as if the room is hilarious.

Salty looks around. It's pretty standard for a college room. There is a Corona poster Tommy put up, but otherwise they haven't been much for decorating. There's a lot of athletic equipment, dirty laundry and dishes and used plastic cups everywhere.

"Yeah," Salty says. "Hey, I'm gonna brush my teeth. Don't go anywhere."

He gets his toothbrush and goes down the hall to the bathroom, where he quickly takes a wizz and then brushes his teeth. As he stares at his reflection in the mirror he thinks about what he's just done.

Maybe he has saved Ian from being assaulted by Josh, but he wonders if that will really change anything. It could happen any time, maybe has already happened before. It's not like now Ian won't still ignore him once he sobers up. In fact, he'll probably be pissed at Salty for bringing him back here. Maybe he won't even remember that it wasn't Salty who tried to take his pants off and do other things, or the fact that he practically begged Salty to take him away from that frat house. Maybe he will think it was Salty who drugged him and basically kidnapped him.

Salty spits purposefully and rinses his mouth out, then leans his hands on the countertop for a moment. "What the fuck am I doing?" he says out loud, looking up at his reflection again as if it can answer him.

Of course it doesn't, so Salty slowly plods back to his room, wondering if Ian will have disappeared from it in the meantime.

He hasn't. In fact his nose is scrunched up against the wall next to Tommy's bed, and he's all twisted around in what looks like a very uncomfortable position. Salty almost just leaves him like that, but then after he sheds his jeans and shirt he feels bad leaving Ian like that. So he rearranges Ian slightly, straightening him out and pulling Tommy's duvet over him. Then he goes over to turn out the light but his eyes alight on the trash can and he decides to put it next to Ian, just in case.

Then he turns out the light and climbs into his own bed, turning toward the wall and away from Ian. Sleep doesn't come, however, maybe because Ian is breathing really loudly, or maybe because Salty is worried that he won't wake up. Salty doesn't know what exactly roofies are made up of but it can't be anything good.

He tosses and turns for what feels like a long time, but finally his eyes start to droop and he's just about to drift off to sleep when he hears some shuffling from the other side of the room. He turns his head toward Ian just in time to see the dark shape of Ian crawling over Salty into the very tiny space between Salty and the wall.

"What," Salty says involuntarily, but Ian doesn't seem to hear him, wiggling around a little, nestling his head right under Salty's chin and curling up against him.

Salty is stunned for a moment, not really sure what to do. His bed is tiny, especially for someone of his size, and Ian isn't exactly small. It's extremely crowded. Salty doesn't know where to put his arms, what to do with his hands, if it's really appropriate that Ian stuck one of his legs right between Salty's knees.

He looks down at Ian's head in the darkness. It's funny; Salty can smell the alcohol and faint smell of sweat on Ian but it isn't repulsive like it always is on girls Salty has made out with at parties in the past. There's something else underneath the sordid party smell, something almost comforting, and he's so warm against Salty's body, clamped tightly around his torso.

Salty wonders if he should move to Tommy's bed. But if he's honest with himself he doesn't want to, because--and this is probably really wrong, but--he likes this. A lot. He's always been kind of a touchy-feely person but since he was little he had to train himself to suppress it with most people because it didn't take him long to figure out that not everyone enjoyed hugging as much as he did. And the problem with doing it with girls was it mostly gave them the wrong idea.

This doesn't feel wrong, though. Salty's got an armful of Ian Kinsler and he can't really imagine anyone taking this in any way that Salty doesn't mean it. He falls asleep to the whistling sound of Ian's breathing against his neck.

*

It's light outside when he's woken abruptly by a loud banging noise.

"Salty? You in there?" someone shouts.

He starts, confused and disoriented, his arm asleep because it's under someone's head. He looks down and sees a mop of dark brown hair. He jerks his head back, and then it all starts coming back to him.

"Wake up, man, I'm kind of in a hurry. Salty?" It's Kason. There's more banging on the door.

Ian shifts a little and turns his head, his eyes slowly blinking open. Salty can see the exact moment when he focuses on Salty's chest in front of his face.

Salty hurriedly rolls over, stumbling out of the bed.

"What the _fuck_ ," he hears Ian say confusedly as Salty hops around trying to put some pants on.

"I'm up," he hollers, since the banging on the door started again.

The second he says that the door opens and Kason walks right in. Salty is in the midst of doing up his fly and looks up just in time to see Kason's eyes alight on Ian in Salty's bed.

Kason stops short.

Salty looks over at Ian nervously. Ian is sitting up, still wearing the clothes he had on last night, his face scrunched and frowning. Salty wonders if he can remember anything.

"Am I interrupting something?" Kason says, his face blank.

"I slept in Tommy's bed," Salty says, and then wonders if maybe that made it sound way more suspicious. He doesn't really care for himself but he knows that Ian will probably be furious if Kason gets the wrong idea here.

But what is the wrong idea? Ian is the one who crawled into Salty's bed, Salty thinks unhappily.

"I just came to give you your keys," Kason says, digging them out of his pocket and tossing them at Salty.

Salty catches them. "Thanks," he says.

There's a tense silence, during which they all look at each other warily, and then Kason finally breaks it.

"Alright, well, I'm out of here. You two dudes enjoy the morning. Maybe you should get brunch at Morning Glory," he says, referring to a breakfast place that is the go-to for every couple that can't tear themselves away from each other the morning after a hookup. Salty breathes a sigh of relief. If he's making a joke about it this way he's not going to take this seriously.

"Fuck you," Ian croaks grumpily.

Salty extends his hand to Kason and they slap each other on the back.

"Happy Thanksgiving," Salty says. Kason nods and leaves, the door shutting behind him.

Salty is almost afraid to turn back to Ian, but he has to. So he does, rubbing the stubble on the underside of his neck as he regards Ian, waiting.

Ian is avoiding Salty's eyes. He's hunched over, holding his head in his hands, his posture looking miserable and defeated.

"Well, that was embarrassing for several reasons," Ian says after a moment. He looks like shit, his eyes bloodshot and his face slightly puffy.

"How do you feel?" Salty says.

"Not good," Ian says. There's a pause, and then, "I'm sure this is obvious but I don't remember how I got here."

"I brought you here," Salty says.

"What?" Ian says, looking up.

"Carried you here over my shoulder."

Ian digests this information for a moment. "I need some water," he says finally, making as if to get out of the bed.

"No, here, I'll get it for you." Salty says quickly. He takes a clean plastic cup off the stack of them on top of the mini-fridge and jogs out to fill it at the bathroom sink, which is the nearest source of water.

When he comes back Ian is lying back down on his side, covering his face with his hands.

"Um, I have your water here," Salty says awkwardly.

Ian cracks an eye open and then sits up again, taking the cup from Salty. He drinks it down, all of it, gulping and tilting his head back.

"Thanks," he says when he's finished, and puts the cup down. He looks down at himself.

"I'm assuming, since I'm still dressed..." he says, and then trails off, looking embarrassed.

"Look, I'm sorry," Salty says. "But I had to bring you back here. It was safer."

"What, was there an ax murderer on the loose?" Ian says dryly.

Salty wonders if he should tell Ian about the things he said last night. Somehow it doesn't seem right to.

"No," Salty says slowly. "Look, I know we aren't exactly tight--"

"I woke up with my face in your chest," Ian interrupts.

"Sorry," Salty says again. For some reason he feels disappointed. Which is stupid, because disappointment implies expectation, and he shouldn't have had any of that.

There's another awkward silence, and then Salty says, "You need help getting back to your house?"

Ian looks up at him. "What did I do last night?" he says finally.

"Uh," Salty says. "Well, I don't really know. I walked in on you and Josh Hamilton on accident--"

"What?" Ian says, his already pale face turning positively ashen.

Salty pauses. "Are you sure you want to know?" he asks reluctantly.

"Fucking yes I want to know," Ian says, sounding almost shrill, or as shrill as he can when his voice is so gravelly.

Salty feels bad for what he has to tell Ian. "Well...he had your pants down around your knees. And when I walked in I could tell you were pretty out of it. He jumped up and started making excuses and maybe I got the wrong idea but it just seemed like things weren't right."

"Shit," Ian says quietly, his eyes dropping down to the bed cover.

"I told him to get out, and then you were still--kind of out of it," Salty continues lamely, not wanting to tell Ian about their conversation. "So I decided to bring you back here. And it's a good thing, too," he adds, "since right as we were walking away the cops showed up. And then I put you in Tommy's bed and turned the lights out but you climbed over into mine and...and I didn't really move. And nothing else happened and we fell asleep, I guess."

Ian looks up at him and he looks scared again. "You won't tell anyone, will you?" he says. "About--about what you saw, I mean."

"'Course I won't," Salty says, a little hurt that Ian thinks he would. But then, in all fairness, Ian doesn't know him at all, Salty reflects.

He tries to imagine what this is like for Ian--not remembering how you got to a place, waking up squashed next to a virtual stranger, having that stranger tell you he nearly witnessed someone commit a felony on you.

A thought suddenly occurs to him.

"You know who I am, right?" he says anxiously. Ian knew who he was at some point last night, of course, but maybe he doesn't now that he's sober.

"Of course I know," Ian says sourly.

"Okay," Salty says, relieved. "Just checking. You knew last night but--well, I thought you knew. You also confused me with Josh at one point, so maybe you didn't."

"In my defense, you do look kind of alike. With the--hair and whatnot," Ian says, gesturing vaguely.

"Maybe, but I'd never do what he did," Salty says vehemently.

Ian frowns, looking down at his hands in his lap again. "I know that," he says quietly.

Those three words make Salty feel hopeful. He braves going over to the bed and sitting down next to Ian.

Ian peeps up at him.

"You goin' home today?" Salty says.

"No," Ian says. "My parents live in Arizona. It's too expensive to fly there and back just for a couple of days."

Salty is surprised. He always thought Ian must be rolling in it, since pretty much every guy in Omega Chi Delta is.

"Where you goin' for dinner?"

"I was gonna go with Mike to his parents'," Ian says.

Salty wonders if he's just imagining the reluctance in Ian's voice.

"Was?" he asks.

"I don't really feel like it now," Ian says.

Salty decides he's going to do something impulsive. What has he got to lose? It's not like Ian was dying to be friends with Salty before. The worst Ian can do is say no, and they'll go back to how things were.

"You wanna come with me to my parents'?" he offers. "I'm driving down to West Palm Beach. We can get there in about four hours. You can stay the weekend and maybe--maybe it'd be good to be away from here for a while."

Ian blinks at him. "Um." He seems to actually be considering this, and Salty's heart starts beating faster.

"You sure it would be okay?" Ian says finally.

Salty can't help smiling widely. "'Course it would," he says. He stands up, rummaging around for his phone. "I'll call my mom right now. Then how about I take you back to your house and you can grab your toothbrush or whatever and we'll get on the road."

"Okay," Ian says faintly. "Um. Where's the bathroom?"

"Down the hall on the right," Salty says.

Ian gets up out of the bed, a little unsteady on his feet, and then walks carefully out into the hallway.

Salty calls his mom, announcing that he's bringing a friend home.

"Oh, honey, that's great," she says. "Who is it?"

"His name's Ian," Salty says. Maybe it's a bit premature to call Ian a friend, but last night may have changed everything.

"Well, dinner's at around three, and you know your grandma likes to start things on time, so get here as soon as you can. I'll set an extra place."

"Thanks, mom." Salty eyes the doorway. Suddenly a thought occurs to him. What if Ian just said yes to get Salty off his back in an awkward situation and used the bathroom as an excuse to run away? It's the kind of thing Salty would expect of Ian, or at least it would have been before the events of the last eight hours or so. He's hoping really hard that he's wrong. "Okay, I gotta go," he says to his mom quickly.

"Okay. Drive save, honey."

Salty goes down the hall to the bathroom. There are three shower stalls and someone is using one of them.

"Ian?" he calls out over the sound of the water.

"Yeah?" Ian says.

"Oh," Salty says, smiling to himself again. "Uh, nothing, I was just making sure you were okay."

"I'm fine," Ian says. "I'll be out in a minute."

"I'll bring you my towel," Salty says.

Ian doesn't answer so Salty goes to get it. "I need to use it after you're done," Salty says, flinging it over the curtain for Ian.

They both finish showering and Salty runs around getting his stuff together while Ian drinks some more water, sitting on Salty's desk chair and watching Salty silently.

"Okay, let's go," Salty says finally, picking up his keys and duffel bag and watching Ian expectantly.

Ian wordlessly stands up and follows Salty down to the car. Salty has to stop himself from putting his arm around Ian, half to protect him and half to make sure that Ian is really there and that this is really happening.

*

Ian wakes up with his head wedged between the car seat headrest and the door frame. His mouth was wide open, and he licks his lips disgustedly, hoping Jarrod had been concentrating on the road and not looking over Ian. He can't remember falling asleep but he'd felt dead tired and slightly sick all morning, and the hum of the car and Jarrod's smooth and easy driving had lulled him to sleep. It looks like they're finally taking an exit to get off the highway and will soon be arriving at Jarrod's parents' home. Good thing Ian is feeling a little better. He picks up the bottle of water he bought after being sick at a gas station a couple of hours ago and takes a long drink, trying to wake himself up.

Most of the drive has been relatively silent aside from the new country station Jarrod's been listening to. While Jarrod sang along quietly, Ian stared out the window. He had a lot to think about before falling asleep. He's been wondering for a while if all the things he thought he wanted out of college are really what he thought they would be. He's starting to realize that a lot of his so-called brothers aren't people he can rely on in any truly meaningful sense, and he's spent all this time trying to impress them and keep up with them that he's turning into something he doesn't want to be. Coming from a relatively poor family and wanting to be an Omega Chi had meant working five times as hard as anyone else, and he'd put up with a lot of shit from a lot of people. Now, finally, when he was starting to feel like he had some solid footing, he was coming to realize that all he'd wanted so badly to be a part of was some elitist, illusory emptiness.

But he didn't really know how to stop. He'd suppressed a lot of things along the way, big things, among them his conscience and his growing conviction that he was gay. He'd been thinking recently that he had to wait until after graduation, when he could make a clean break and get away from all this, to try to fix things, set himself right again, try to go back to being the kind of person who could look in the mirror every morning and not hate himself for being such a fucking liar.

And then the whole mess with Josh had happened. They'd been partying a few weeks ago and Josh had gotten Ian into a closet. Ian had been extremely drunk, and they'd made out, but when Josh tried to push him down and get Ian to suck his dick Ian had refused. Josh looked angry and made a drunken threat to tell everyone Ian was a fag, but Ian had been wasted enough to feel like he didn't give a shit, and he had said as much to Josh as he shoved him aside and walked out on him. It would've almost been a relief, Ian thought, to be exposed. It would give him a good excuse to leave. Maybe he could transfer to another school, finish his last two years somewhere else.

When he sobered up, though, the fear of exposure was back and as healthy as ever. Ian spent a miserable few weeks dreading what Josh would do. When he'd seen him at the party the night before he'd started sweating, but Josh had come up to him pretending like nothing was weird between them. Maybe he didn't remember, Ian thought, relieved. But apparently he had, and his revenge had been of a different sort entirely.

Ian figures he'd be able to feel it if something more than what Jarrod described had happened. He doesn't want to feel grateful to Jarrod for rescuing him. As if he needed another reason to feel completely, utterly, helplessly in love with him. It's almost too perfect that Jarrod was the one to walk in on whatever it was that Josh had planned. Of course he would be the one, making it even harder than ever for Ian to ignore him.

Ian had first seen Jarrod two years ago at a freshman mixer before classes started. He was a little more lanky back then but he still towered over most of the other guys. He had huge hands and a great ass and his smile was so open and friendly and hopeful. Ian caught his eye at one point while they were all standing around awkwardly with soda cans trying to meet people. Jarrod saw him staring and smiled, putting up his hand to wave, but Ian turned quickly back to the group of guys he was talking to, spooked by Jarrod's notice.

Then he'd realized that Jarrod was in his Freshman Writing section. Ian watched Jarrod when he thought Jarrod wasn't looking, but as the social scene began to shape up in the weeks after the term started he began to realize that Jarrod was not someone who would be beneficial as a friend. In fact, he was more than a little odd. He tried to pledge Omega Chi, just like Ian, but Omega Chi didn't want him and Ian heard later that the only reason Lamdba Sigma Omega accepted his bid was because he was a big time baseball prospect and had been drafted by the Braves in the first round but had opted to go to college instead.

Besides, Ian was fairly sure that what he wanted from Jarrod wasn't just friendship. That, he knew, was extremely dangerous. So he'd tried to ignore Jarrod's existence. He kept track of Jarrod's athletic activity in private and was secretly devastated when Freshman Writing was over, since he didn't have any classes with Jarrod after that. It was always painful seeing Jarrod at parties. Sometimes he'd see Jarrod all alone in a corner, looking lost or blank, as if he were a million miles away, and Ian wanted badly to go over and bring him back, draw him into the fun that was supposed to be happening in the room. But often it was even worse when Ian saw Jarrod actually involved in whatever was happening, because that meant Jarrod's hands on some other girls' waist or some girl in Jarrod's lap with her hands clutching his big, broad shoulders or in his insanely curly, springy hair. When he saw that Ian would usually try to get as drunk as he possibly could to not only forget the fact that he wanted Jarrod's hands on him but also force himself to try to have sex with someone who was just as drunk as he was and wouldn't notice how bad he was at getting off with a girl.

Then Jarrod pretty much stopped showing up at house parties at all. Ian looked for him every time, but ultimately decided it was a good thing that he didn't see Jarrod very much anymore, since he had become something of an unhealthy obsession with Ian and it would be better to focus on other things.

Of course, the one party Jarrod did show up at had to be the one where Ian was lying face down with his pants around his ankles about to get ass-raped by Jarrod's evil doppelganger.

It had been excruciating that morning, waking up with his face in Jarrod's chest, Jarrod's arms around him. He'd run a very strange gamut of emotional superlatives, wondering for one strangely ecstatic moment, through the misery of a terrible hangover, if they'd actually done what Ian had fantasized about so many times before, then feeling frustration and panic when he realized he could not remember any of it, and then the utter humiliation of finding out from Jarrod what had really happened.

Now, sitting next to Jarrod in the car, he wonders why he doesn't hate Jarrod, or at least feel strongly that he never wants to see Jarrod again. Instead of feeling any of that he said yes to the idea of joining Jarrod at his family home for Thanksgiving. Could anything be weirder?

Ian knew it was dangerous to say yes to Jarrod's invitation, and he nearly backtracked and told Jarrod he would go to Mike's after all many times. But then he would look at Jarrod, see the way he seemed excited and happy and strangely grateful to Ian for saying yes, and the busy way he was preparing for the trip. It would definitely be a family affair, Ian saw. Jarrod was even bringing a giant hamper of his dirty laundry home so his mom would wash it for him.

There was something in his actions that morning, the way he offered Ian a plastic cup of water and let Ian use his towel first, when it was dry, that made Ian unable to walk away from him. Jarrod seemed so young in some ways but so much older in others, eager to share like a young child but assured, too, like a grown man who knew he had something valuable to offer. He makes Ian feel sick and sordid, like some jaded but childish reprobate whose soul needs saving before it withers into black dust, never having had a chance to grow and become what it has the potential to be.

Ian wonders how he knew, from the very first, that Jarrod was someone worth knowing, and why he did not listen to himself. Things might have turned out very differently for Ian if he had made friends with Jarrod like he had wanted to in the beginning.

Maybe it's not too late. He looks over at Jarrod driving now and wonders if he has any idea that he has not only been Ian's go-to fantasy every time he masturbated in the shower, but also, strangely, a kind of anchor for Ian, who has been lost in a stormy sea of ambition and dissipation. Strangely, even after seeing Ian at his absolute worst the night before, Jarrod has still reached out to him, offering his hand figuratively and literally. Ian can't do anything but take it, now, and be grateful.

"We're almost there," Salty says, looking over at Ian and smiling. "I hope you like dogs."

"I've got a dog at home," Ian says.

"My dad has three. And my brother might bring his dogs."

"How many people are gonna be there?" Ian asks.

"Well, my mom and dad, my brother and his wife, Heather, my grandma and grandpa, probably my Aunt Rhonda and Uncle Jeff and my cousin, Travis."

"Hey, can you pull into this Publix for a sec?" Ian says.

"Publix isn't open on Thanksgiving," Salty says, "but there's a Walmart close by here that might be open if you need something."

"Okay," Ian says.

They arrive in the Walmart parking lot and Ian tells Salty he can wait in the car.

"You sure?" Salty says.

"Yeah, I'll be right back," Ian says, jumping out of the car and trotting into the store. He looks for the buckets of flowers. It's pretty slim pickings this late in the day, but he finds a bouquet that doesn't look too droopy or pathetic and buys it.

"Wow," Salty says, grinning at the bouquet when Ian gets into the car. "Are those for me? Didn't know you felt that way."

"For your mom," Ian says, a little embarrassed, though he smiles at Salty's teasing.

"She'll like that," Salty says, putting the car in gear again, and Ian feels a little better.

He's a little nervous when they pull into a driveway a little ways off the road. It's a pretty big property but the house looks small and a little run down. Immediately when Jarrod stops the car three dogs come tearing out of the house.

Jarrod gets out of the car and kneels down, and the dogs come running, looking ecstatic at his arrival and all eagerly pushing against him to be able to lick his face. One of them is whining and whimpering frantically, like he's crying with happiness. Jarrod laughs, greeting each of them and ruffling their fur, and then he puts his hand to the stomach of the one that's crying, speaking to it in a low voice that seems to soothe it. There's a big chocolate lab, a boxer mix of some kind, and the one that was overcome with its happiness looks like a mutt of indeterminate parentage. Ian gets out of the car too and they all come toward him, sniffing curiously at his crotch.

"Just push 'em out of your way if they're bothering you," Jarrod says, going around to get their bags out of the trunk.

"They're not bothering me," Ian says, though probably low enough that Jarrod can't hear him. The dogs all seem very friendly and not too aggressive. Looking in their eyes reminds him strangely of Jarrod himself.

The door to the house opens again and out comes a portly man with glasses and a big nose. Jarrod's nose, Ian realizes, and he quickly stands up.

"Son," he says, sounding a little stern, but Ian can see that he's beaming with pride at the sight of his boy.

"Dad!" Jarrod exclaims, and drops the bags to hug him. Jarrod's dad is much shorter than Jarrod is and Ian wonders where Jarrod got his height from.

"Dad, this is Ian," Jarrod says, gesturing at Ian. Ian wipes his hand quickly on his jeans before extending it to shake hands.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Saltalamacchia," he says formally. He's still nervous, as if he's meeting his girlfriend's dad.

"Call me John," Jarrod's dad says. "We were all surprised to hear Jarrod was bringing a friend home for dinner. He hasn't ever mentioned you before. Are you one of Jarrod's fraternity brothers?"

"No," Jarrod says, "he's an Omega Chi. Cream of the crop."

"Not quite," Ian says, but he can see that this information immediately endears him to John, who looks impressed.

"It's great that you boys have become friends. No rivalry, eh?"

"Not today, at least," Jarrod says, grinning.

Ian is glad Jarrod keeps answering questions meant for him. He wishes he weren't so tongue-tied.

"Well, come on inside. Your mom is in the kitchen."

Ian gets the flowers out of the car and they go inside, where there are a flurry of introductions. Jarrod's cousin, Travis, is extremely tan and has very white teeth, and he seems to be an ardent football fan, just like Jarrod's grandfather. Jarrod's brother, Justin, is short like John, and he looks like he'll put on the same kind of weight soon. Justin's girlfriend looks cheap but seems nice enough. She's also pregnant. Jarrod's uncle, not related by blood, is tall and has a pretty intimidating mustache going. They're all friendly, and then Jarrod drags Ian into the kitchen.

"Mom, we're here," Jarrod says, and he swoops down to give his mom a big wet kiss on the cheek. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Oh, honey," she says, reaching up to hug him tightly. She's short, too, and round. In fact, Jarrod's entire family seems to be short and round. "It's so good to see you. You look even bigger than you did in August! Look at these muscles. My baby! They're getting serious about that weight training, aren't they?"

Without waiting for an answer she turns to Ian. "You must be Ian," she says. Jarrod may have his dad's nose but he has his mom's eyes and her smile.

"Nice to meet you--" Ian begins, but he is enveloped in a hug before he can finish. Ian pats her back awkwardly with one hand, the other still holding the bouquet. She's soft all the way through.

Ian looks over at Jarrod, who's busy greeting an old woman who must be his grandmother and a younger one who must be his Aunt Rhonda, gathering them both up at once, one in each arm, and squeezing.

"I'm Jerri," Jarrod's mom says, drawing back.

"These are for you," Ian says, holding out the Walmart bouquet. "Thanks for having me. I know it was short notice."

"For me?" she says, drawing back in surprise, though they really couldn't have been for anyone else. "That was sweet of you, dear. I'm just so glad to meet you. It's wonderful to know that Jarrod is finally making some good friends. Let me find a vase for these, they'll look so nice on the buffet--Rhonda, watch those brussels sprouts, I'm going to find a vase..."

She drifts away while Ian digests her comment. Has Jarrod gone two years in college without having made any good friends? Maybe he just doesn't tell his parents about them. But they seem like a close family. Ian feels a bit like a fraud. He and Jarrod aren't friends; Ian's fantasies aside, they really barely know each other.

Justin suggests a game of eight-ball before dinner, so he, Jarrod, Travis and Ian head down to the basement, the dogs following Jarrod closely, where there's an old pool table. Ian has spent a lot of time at Dobbler's playing pool so he's pretty good, and it soon becomes apparent that he and Justin possess all the skill in the group. Ian has the edge, though, and even though Jarrod, who is by far the least skilled, is on his team, they end up winning, high-fiving each other in victory. Jarrod catches hold of Ian's hand as they do and smiles down at him, his eyes looking soft, and Ian quickly draws his hand away, wondering what Justin and Travis think if they're seeing this. Then he sees Jarrod's smile fade and he wishes he hadn't done it, because these people are Jarrod's family, and why should Ian care if Jarrod doesn't? Ian excuses himself to use the bathroom and goes in to splash his face with water, telling himself to break the habit of denying himself something good: Jarrod's friendship.

Then they're called up to dinner. Ian is seated between Jarrod and Travis, and Ian is surprised when suddenly everyone joins hands.

They're going to pray, apparently. Jarrod envelops Ian's left hand in his right hand and bows his head.

Jarrod's dad does the praying, and it's a long, rambling speech of thanks to their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, blah blah blah, patriotism and family values, with Jarrod's mother interjecting things at intervals with copious use of the word "precious." Ian's family is not religious, and he peeks up at the others and sees all of them with their heads bowed and their eyes closed tight, some of them mouthing their own prayers. He feels a childish need to laugh with how uncomfortable he is, but then he hears his own name mentioned.

"...and Lord, we thank you for Ian's presence with us here today and for his friendship to Jarrod, and ask that you be with them as they continue on their journey to becoming men."

The prayer goes on, but Ian feels his face burning bright red. He's fairly sure that he felt Jarrod squeeze his hand a little.

The feeling of being a fraud comes back full force. Jarrod's entire family seems to be so grateful to Ian for befriending Jarrod and is under the illusion that if Jarrod brought him back here, they must be good friends, that Ian must've done something to deserve Jarrod's friendship. He wonders how long it will take for them to realize the truth.

The prayer finishes, finally, and he hears everyone including Jarrod murmur a fervent "Amen." They pass the food around and begin eating, and Ian wonders about Jarrod, about what kind of strange boy he must be. He's a star baseball player, in a good fraternity, does alright in school, from what Ian can tell, and is extremely good-looking. So far he hasn't revealed any strange social anxieties or oddities; in fact, he seems to enjoy talking and be extremely open and affectionate with people. He certainly was with Ian. So how is it that he has no good friends?

Ian looks around at Jarrod's family. He's never attended a Thanksgiving meal like this. His parents never had Thanksgiving at their house; they always went to one of his mom's more wealthy relatives' homes, where they had to dress up and be on their best behavior, and there was no praying and lots of competition. Ian's dad hated his mom's family and was always surly, spending most of his time trying to prove to everyone else how Ian and his sister were far superior to anyone else's kids, which always made Ian cringe in embarrassment and dread, because he was usually called upon to provide proof.

Then, for the last two years, he's gone with his supposed best friend Mike to his family's Thanksgiving, and those were even more formal and stiff. Mike's parents were filthy rich and their dinners were more like society parties than family gatherings. There was no jello or casseroles made from Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup or cranberry sauce out of a can like there was on this table. Instead there was champagne in flute glasses and profiteroles and a lot of rich assholes trying to make like they loved each other while they secretly tried to get off with each other's spouses. Mike and Ian would usually leave early and attend some other party in the city in someone's penthouse apartment, where Ian was admittedly more relaxed, mostly due to the availability of much stronger drinks or other chemical enhancements.

Maybe people are just giant snobs, Ian thinks, coming back to the question of what it is about Jarrod that sets him apart. He knows he has been a snob to Jarrod, even if mostly from a distance, and yet Jarrod's family is being so nice to Ian now, not knowing any better.

"So," John says, "Ian. How did you and Jarrod become friends? Are you on the baseball team?"

"No, sir," Ian says, lowering his fork from halfway up to his mouth back down to his plate. "We were actually in Freshman Writing together."

"Do you like baseball?" Jarrod's grandmother asks.

"Yeah," Ian says, though he really doesn't care much about it. He's a wide midfielder on the soccer team but has put in a poor showing in the last five games they played. He wonders if he'll be on the team much longer.

"You ever go to one of Jarrod's games?" John asks persistently.

Ian has never been to a college baseball game, though he reads the box scores in the student newspaper and looked for Jarrod's name several times. He doesn't know how to say this, however. He feels like he should have gone, if he's supposed to be such a good friend of Jarrod's.

"I told him not to come," Jarrod says quickly. "Makes me nervous when I know certain people are there watching."

"Jarrod, if you wanna be big league, you gotta get over that," John says in a lecturing tone of voice. "I remember when you didn't want your mother going to your games in high school. You think she's gonna miss your first major league game when you're called up? Are you gonna choke on your biggest day if Ian is up in the stands watching you?"

Ian eyes John, trying to mask his incredulity at this hypothetical. In an instant he imagines himself sitting with Jarrod's parents and grandparents at Jarrod's debut game, and the way the broadcast cameras would alight on them briefly during his first at-bat, the announcers saying something like, _Here watching Saltalamacchia in his major league debut are his parents, John and Jerri, his grandparents, and his special friend, Ian Kinsler. All of them must be anxious for Salty to get his first hit._ Ian almost laughs out loud. He's pretty sure that everyone watching would immediately jump to the conclusion that Jarrod is gay.

"Seems like if you don't mind some big time baseball scouts watching you you shouldn't be nervous when your own mom is watching you," his uncle Jeff says. "She'd think you were the shit even if you struck out five times."

"I dunno," Jarrod says. "I guess it's easier to do good in front of people who don't really care about you."

"Remember that teacher you had a crush on?" Justin says. "What was her name..."

"Ashley," Travis says. "Ms. Perry. Man, I can't believe she actually came to your games. You could've tapped that."

"Travis," Rhonda says warningly.

"Who says he didn't?" Justin says.

"This is not dinner conversation," Jarrod's grandmother says.

"Sorry, Gams," Jarrod says easily.

"Well anyway, you always shit the bed when she was at your games," Justin continues.

Jerri looks disapproving. "That woman was something else. I'm not surprised we haven't seen hide or hair of her since you decided to go to college instead."

"I was an annoying student," Jarrod says serenely.

"I'm glad you got over that crush," Jerri says. "Imagine a grown woman--a teacher, no less!--making up to an adolescent boy."

"She was a good-lookin' gal," John says. "Pass the gravy, will you?"

"Baseball has been Jarrod's life ever since he could walk," Jerri tells Ian. "From the time he was a boy he used to say all he wanted was to be a baseball player."

"He'll be popular with the girls if he makes it," Heather says, picking over the single slice of turkey breast she has on her plate.

"Jarrod's always known exactly what he wanted and gone after it," John says. "I've always taught the boys that they could do whatever they wanted if they set their minds to it."

"I ain't a ballplayer yet," Jarrod says.

"You're doing the right thing, going to college," Jerri says. "And look, you're making friends your own age! That's important."

"Mom," Justin says, rolling his eyes.

"It is," Jerri insists. "You should've stayed in school yourself. Then you wouldn't be working for Enterprise for $8 an hour." She turns back to Ian. "It was all I could do to convince Jarrod that it was important for him to finish his education."

"Learn from my mistakes," Justin says, sounding a little resentful.

"Not only that, but accidents happen," Rhonda chimes in. "I have a friend whose boy was going to play football for Clemson, but he got a bad concussion and now he lives in one of those facilities where they spoon-feed you mashed peas."

"College won't help you none there," Jarrod says.

"You can always join the force," Jeff says.

"All I can say is, it's a good thing you've got that scholarship. The cost of education in this country is something else," John says. "We can barely keep up with all your fraternity fees as it is."

The conversation moves on, thankfully diverted from Ian and occasionally making reference to several interesting facts from Jarrod's childhood and adolescence. The more Ian learns about Jarrod's life and upbringing the more he's convinced that Jarrod was one of those kids who was "special" right up until a big growth spurt around age 16, when suddenly he became somebody. But in the meantime he'd learned how to entertain himself without the help of anyone else and ended up a little different as a result.

Ian is surprised by how much he eats. He'd thought he was too sick to eat much but he has several helpings of pretty much everything. Travis seems to know a bit about soccer, so Ian talks to him about that for a while, but Travis is disparaging about it, making the usual comments about how boring it is. As he's talking to Travis he notices that his left hand is resting next to his plate on the table, and Jarrod is resting his right hand next to his own plate. Their pinkies are less than an inch apart and Ian nearly loses his train of thought imagining what it would be like if Jarrod just reached over a few inches and covered Ian's hand, right there on the table in front of everyone.

He doesn't, though, and Ian draws his hand down to his lap again. They finish eating relatively quickly so that they can start watching the football game at 4, though Jarrod's grandfather leaves the table early to turn the TV on to catch the pregame show.

"You wanna watch the game with everyone?" Jarrod asks.

"Sure," Ian says. He isn't crazy about football, either, but he's tired, still feeling a little under the weather. Jarrod's mom and aunt and grandmother go to the kitchen to clean up and the guys and Heather crowd into the living room. There isn't too much sitting room and Ian ends up wedged into the arm of the couch with Jarrod squashed up next to him. Jarrod's dad and grandfather have taken the two easy chairs and his aunt and uncle share the love seat. Travis lies down sideways on the floor with the dogs, right in front of Ian and Jarrod's feet, and Justin and Heather have the other side of the couch. They start making out in front of everyone a few minutes later and Ian scrunches his nose but no one else seems to notice or care.

The game soon turns into white noise. Jarrod is so warm next to him. The couch is crowded enough that Jarrod has stretched his arm out over the back of the couch just behind Ian's head, and even though he's not actually touching Ian it feels oddly intimate. Ian wants to just curl into Jarrod's side and fall asleep again, safe and warm and well-fed.

He does exactly that, and it isn't until Jerri brings out the pumpkin pie that Ian wakes up. His head had fallen onto Jarrod's shoulder and he'd been drooling a little onto Jarrod's shirt.

"Sorry," Ian says as he wipes his chin, not even embarrassed anymore, since this is the third time in less than twenty-four hours that he's woken up next to Jarrod in an unflattering way.

"It's okay," Jarrod says, smiling down at him. He pitches his voice low so that the others can't hear over the sounds of the game. "You had a rough night last night."

Maybe it's just a hazy sleep-induced feeling but Ian feels a rush of gratitude. He imagines having to survive today with Mike and his stuck-up family and he almost goes cold, but being tucked up against Jarrod's big, warm body prevents that from happening.

Ian doesn't even like pumpkin pie that much but for some reason eating it here on this couch that is too soft with these people he just met makes it taste better. He finishes all of the gigantic piece that Jerri served him. Jarrod eats his, too, and he gets whipped cream on the corner of his mouth. Ian doesn't want to be the one to point it out to him but when he thinks no one's looking he just reaches over and swipes at it. Jarrod looks around at him, and Ian holds up his finger, showing Jarrod the little dab of white. Before he can think better of it he puts his finger in his mouth and licks it off, and for a second Jarrod just stares. Ian has a moment of panic thinking that he's gone too far, that he's misread everything, that Jarrod is going to think he's some kind of cliched gay slut, but then Jarrod smiles again, his eyes crinkling down at the corners, and the hand behind Ian creeps down to Ian's shoulder. Jarrod squeezes him close for a few seconds, and then he lets go, his hand going back to where it was before.

Ian feels a little nervous, a little excited. He doesn't know exactly where this is going but the possibilities seem endless, and for once the unknown seems full of good things.

*

The football game is over by 7:30. Jarrod gets up, then, and the dogs immediately spring up, one of them barking and running around his legs. "I'm gonna take them for a walk," he says to Ian. "You wanna come?"

"Yeah," Ian says, getting up off the couch and stretching.

"Anyone else?" Jarrod says, but no one volunteers, and Ian is glad it will just be the two of them.

It's dark outside, but not cold at all. They start out walking in silence.

"Sorry about my family," Jarrod says after a while. The dogs are running out ahead, sniffing everything.

"What? No, they're great," Ian says.

"Yeah, but they keep talking about how they're glad I finally have a friend and stuff."

"You were a friend to me last night when no one else was," Ian says. "When I really needed one and didn't even realize. But I guess you would've done that for anyone." He ducks his head, burying his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt.

Jarrod doesn't answer, calling one of the dogs back because he'd wandered too far.

"So," Ian says. "You don't bring many friends home, do you?"

"No," Jarrod says. "I don't really have that many friends."

"How is that possible?" Ian bursts out. "You're in the top athletics frat, you're on the baseball team, and you're fuckin'--hot." He kind of regrets that last word but it's true.

Jarrod laughs. "Well I got lots of people around me all the time, if that's what you mean." He picks up a stick and throws it for the dogs, letting them chase it and fight over it. "I think I'm the only guy with no friends on the team. But that's okay. I do alright." He turns to look at Ian. "I kinda can't believe you're here with me. You've got tons of friends. You're one of the most popular guys on campus."

"Look where it got me," Ian says, kicking some gravel on the road.

"About that," Jarrod says. "Are you okay? I mean...do you feel okay?"

"What, you mean because I was probably roofied or whatever?"

"Yeah," Jarrod says. He throws the stick again, harder, and Ian can see how strong his arm is. The stick sails far away over the grass, and the dogs go running.

"I don't know," Ian says.

Maybe he would feel different if something had actually happened. If Jarrod hadn't been there. Somehow it already feels like it happened a long time ago, back when Ian was a different person. Even the car ride with Jarrod seems like a different time. There was a point, earlier today, at which he wondered if Jarrod was even telling the truth about what happened, but all Ian had to do was remember the look on Josh's face when he showed up at the party the night before and he has no trouble believing it. He's known for a while now that he should try to stop drinking carelessly the way he's been doing for the past couple of years, and if anything what happened the night before is the wake-up call that's telling him he can't put it off any longer.

"He should be arrested," Jarrod says harshly.

"It was kind of my fault," Ian says reluctantly.

"That kind of thing ain't anyone's fault but the person who does it."

"I know that's what they say but..." Ian trails off. He and his entire fraternity have had to take mandatory rape awareness training by order of the university after one of their brothers was convicted of felony rape charges during Ian's freshman year. The trainer was careful to emphasize that any of them could be victims of rape, too, but everyone scoffed and Ian certainly never thought he'd be in a position to think of himself as a victim. It's a strange feeling. He doesn't think he feels scared or violated, just embarrassed and mad at himself.

"I've done a lot of stupid shit since I came to college." Ian doesn't really want to talk about this out loud, but something about Jarrod and the quiet night makes it a little easier.

"We all do stupid shit," Jarrod says. "You heard what they were talking about back there, about Ashley. The teacher at my school. I wanted to marry her. I was 18 and I wanted to marry someone who was 32. If I'd gotten my way I'd be married right now."

"Yeah, what was that about?" Ian says, feeling like it's probably okay to ask about it because Jarrod sounds like he's making light of it.

"She was hot. And she listened to me. I was a loner in high school, too, not just now. I was also pretty serious about baseball and not much else. Didn't have a lot of confidence with girls but I didn't really care because none of them understood about baseball and about me. But I thought she did. Now I think it's just because she was older. Old people are smarter."

"So...did you and her...you know." Ian illustrates his question with a lewd gesture.

Jarrod laughs again. "Yeah," he says. "We did. All through my senior year. She taught me all I know about it. At the time I thought it was pretty fuckin' rad, and I was the luckiest guy ever."

"Wow," Ian says. "You must be, like, legend at your high school."

"I seriously doubt it. People left nasty graffiti on my locker. I even heard about it at games sometimes. People shouting stuff. I think she got harassed pretty bad about it too. She had to quit her job there because of the rumors and couldn't find another one. I felt pretty bad about it but she told me it would all be worth it once I was in the big leagues."

Ian feels bad for high school Jarrod, so lonely he went looking for love in the wrong places. He doesn't want to sound like he's passing judgment on Jarrod, since he obviously has no room to talk, but he can't help saying, "It's a good thing you went to college."

"Yeah, now I think so." Jarrod grins at Ian, and Ian has to look away, suddenly self-conscious, because he thinks maybe, hopefully, Jarrod is talking about more than just school.

This whole day has been different from anything Ian has ever experienced, and this almost painfully ambiguous flirting is no exception. Ian thinks of all of his drunken hookups and the disgust or self-loathing that always followed. This is something entirely different, and he feels the slow burn of anticipation building in him as he tries to make brushing up against Jarrod's arm as they walk seem almost but not quite accidental.

When they get back, Travis, Jeff, and Rhonda are ready to say goodbye because Travis is eager to get to his friend's place. Once they're gone Jerri brings up sleeping arrangements.

"Grandma and Grandpa are sleeping in your room," she says to Jarrod apologetically. "I was going to have you sleep on the hide-a-bed but maybe you want to let Ian have it and you can sleep up here on this couch? There's also that old air mattress in the downstairs closet but I think there's a leak in it."

"We'll sleep in the basement," Jarrod says. "Ian can have the hide-a-bed and I'll see if the air mattress works."

Justin and Heather decide to go watch the day's third game in Justin's bedroom because Heather is tired, and the old people decide they're going to watch a movie.

Jarrod turns to Ian and asks him quietly if he wants to watch the movie or go downstairs. Ian's heart starts beating faster and he tells Jarrod in a kind of choked little voice that he wants to go downstairs. Jarrod smiles.

"We're gonna go downstairs and hang out," he says, standing up and turning to his parents.

"Oh, you sure you don't wanna watch the movie, boys? It's got--who's in it, John?"

"Well, let's see," John says, peering down through his bifocals at the cover. "Looks like...Paul Newman and Melanie Griffith." He puts it down. "Barb recommended it. Should be good."

"I can make coffee," Jeri says.

"That's okay, mom. We're fine. Thanks for dinner."

Jarrod leans down to hug her and kiss her cheek, a big wet smack.

"Yeah, thanks for dinner," Ian echoes.

"You're welcome," Jerri says warmly. "Come on, come give me a hug." She holds out her arms.

Ian awkwardly goes forward, leaning down and feeling her encircle his neck and pull him close. "You're a good boy," she says. "I'm glad Jarrod found you."

"Um. Thanks," Ian says, drawing back. His own mom hardly ever hugs him and has certainly never called him a "good boy." Ian isn't sure what to make of this. He doesn't know whether Jarrod's mom is really nice or just really embarrassingly trusting. Maybe both.

Ian realizes suddenly that Jarrod has this, too, something he obviously got from his mother, some weird ability to decide instantly whether to like or dislike someone, and whether or not to help them. But in Jarrod it has taken on another dimension. For all his apparently unselfconscious generosity Jarrod has shown today, Ian gets the feeling that Jarrod isn't offering it blindly. There's something knowing about him, something in his gaze and his words that seems to display keen perspicacity, the kind that is almost terrifying because it is inescapable. But Ian doesn't want to run away from it, either, because something inside him has been yearning to be exposed, and this day with Jarrod has made it impossible to ignore.

Jarrod picks up both of their bags and heads downstairs, Ian following, and they pull the cushions off of the old couch and roll out the hide-a-bed. Ian is distracted mid-task when he looks over at a shelf full of trophies and ribbons and framed certificates.

He walks over and sees Jarrod's name on all of them. They're mostly baseball awards but there are a few ribbons for hunting contests and gun safety training.

"Are these all yours?" he says.

Jarrod looks up from tucking in the sheet. "Yeah," he says. "My dad put all that up. Justin used to have a shelf too but he took all his down."

"Did he play baseball too?"

"Yeah. I only started playing because of him. Wanted to do what he was doing. I was that annoying younger brother."

"Is this your bat?" Ian says, lifting one up from where it's resting on some kind of decorative bat stand.

"No," Jarrod says. "It's a bat signed by Dale Murphy. My dad drove us up to Atlanta for a Phillies series when I was about six. I stood by the dugout for what seemed like hours before every game hoping to get his autograph. He finally came over on the last day and signed it for me."

"Oh," Ian says. Ian isn't going to admit that he doesn't know who Dale Murphy is. He's heard the name before but he doesn't know anything about him. "Sorry for just grabbing it," he says, replacing the bat carefully on the stand.

"It's okay. You ever even swung a bat before?"

"Yeah, when I was like five in little league. We went to the batting cages a couple times in middle school when there was nothing better to do but I got kinda sick of baseball growing up in Arizona, to be honest. Purposely avoided it."

He looks at the bat again. He kind of wants to pick it up and try swinging it.

"Go ahead," Jarrod says, as if he's reading Ian's mind.

So Ian does, reaching for the bat again and holding it up over his shoulder, getting into some approximation of a batting stance.

"See, you're a natural," Jarrod says, sitting back. "Just bend your knees, wait for a pitch and drive it."

"It's that easy, right?" Ian says. "Baseballs are fuckin' tiny."

"Maybe, but we're not tryin' to hit them with our heads," Jarrod says.

Ian wiggles his hips a little bit, trying to figure out how best to twist his body as he swings, and then imagines a ball coming toward him at 90 miles an hour. He bites his bottom lip and takes a big hack, trying to follow through but nearly losing his balance and falling backward.

"That's right," Jarrod says, laughing. "You'll be a pull-hitter, swinging like that."

"You are obviously kidding," Ian says, slightly red-faced. "I won't hit anything at all. There wasn't even any ball and I almost hurt myself."

"You never know," Jarrod says. "That didn't look half as bad as some of the swings I've seen by guys who actually play. I'm kind of frustrated with my own swing. I've been learning to hit with wood and I feel like it's changing everything."

"I should go to one of your games," Ian says.

"Yeah, um, about earlier," Jarrod says, "when my dad asked you if you'd ever been to one?"

"Thanks for covering for me," Ian says. "I felt like a fraud."

"That's my fault," Jarrod says. "I should've made things clear from the beginning. My dad thinks everyone should be my biggest fan just 'cause he is."

Ian puts the bat back on the stand.

"Look, I...never did thank you," he says slowly, not looking at Jarrod. "For getting me out of there last night. And for...well, giving me a place to go away from--all of it."

"You're fine," Jarrod says.

"I wasn't fine," Ian says. "But I think I might be now. Or on my way, at least."

"Good," Jarrod says.

"But you should know," Ian says determinedly, "just so you don't go on thinking I didn't put myself in that position...I did, because a while ago--I mean," he breaks off, finding it even more difficult than he thought it would be. "This is something I haven't told anyone. Not my best friend, not even my parents."

Ian swallows hard, but he can't get the next words out. He can hear what he needs to say in his head, what he wants one person to hear out loud, but he can't make his voice work, and the silence draws out longer and longer.

"You don't have to explain yourself," Jarrod says after a while. "Nothing you say is gonna make me regret carryin' you out of that house, if that's what you're trying to do."

Ian raises his eyes and sees the way Jarrod is sitting forward, crossing his arms over his knees, his brown eyes serious but kind as they gaze at Ian. It makes him feel a little choked up. He never imagined that this would be the face of the first person he felt like he could come out to, the face of the person who was safest.

"Sorry," he says again around the lump in his throat, because he can't really think of anything else to say. "I'm being such a bummer, I know."

"Nah," Jarrod says. He smiles.

So here they are. Ian wonders how Jarrod grew up to be strong enough to be alone rather than compromise himself and what he wants out of life. Ian wasn't. He made up for his insecurities and his fear by pretending to be something else so that he wouldn't have to be outcast or alone. They have something in common, an intrinsic loneliness having defined their respective experiences of the world, but they'd made such different choices in filling the gaps.

"I'm coming to your games," Ian says finally, staring down at his shoes and kicking at the carpet. "I'm gonna learn about baseball. You're gonna be sick of me. And who knows. Maybe I will be there when you're called up and play your first big league game."

"I'll hold you to it," Jarrod says.

Ian looks up at Jarrod and can't help smiling. They grin at each other like a couple of idiots for a while, and then Ian says, "You wanna play another round of eight-ball?"

"Sure," Jarrod says.

So they do, and Ian uses the excuse of improving Jarrod's shitty game to get close up when giving him pointers.

~*~*~*~

Salty is lying awake on the slowly deflating leaky air mattress. The lights are all out and the whole house is silent, but Salty can't stop grinning to himself in the darkness.

Ian is just a few feet away up on the hide-a-bed, probably asleep again. Salty thinks fondly about what Ian looks like asleep, a bit incredulous that the sight has become so familiar after only one day. He can picture almost exactly the way Ian crinkles his forehead up a little and looks like he's concentrating really hard on sleeping. There's something so endearing to Salty about the fact that, right or wrong, important or not, Ian is always trying so hard at whatever he's doing.

It's been kind of a strange day, but a good one, Salty thinks. He's learned a lot about Ian, not only from what he said but what he didn't say. He'd trusted Ian not to be an asshole to his family and of course Ian hadn't let him down. There had been several awkward moments when Ian didn't quite know how to deal with his parents' assumption that they were good friends, but Salty was touched by the way Ian had let them keep believing it. He hadn't even shied away from Salty afterward when they were on the couch watching the football game; instead, he'd curled right up into Salty's side and fallen fast asleep. It was all Salty could do not to squeeze him and kiss him right then and there.

He remembers Ian saying that he might be there the day Salty is called up. Salty is determined that that day is a matter of when, not if, and the idea of Ian being there makes Salty happy, because it means that maybe, just maybe, this will last. He tries to tell himself not to think this way, because everything might change the minute they're back on campus and Ian is sucked back into the thick social milieu in which he's been entrenching himself for the past two years. He won't have time for Salty if that's the case.

But somehow Salty doesn't think that will happen. He doesn't know why, exactly, but he feels hopeful, like this is the start of a big change in his life. Nothing about his goals has changed, of course; barring any serious injuries he's pretty sure he'll be picked in an early round in the upcoming draft and if he plays his cards right he can finish his degree in the offseasons, playing in fall league and taking the winter to wrap up classes and his senior project, the benefits of attending a school on a trimester system. He thinks about this plan nearly every night before falling asleep, but now, he hopes, he'll have someone to make the waiting a little easier, a little less empty.

Salty stretches his arms out and clasps his hands underneath the back of his head, staring up at the ceiling and making plans. He almost doesn't notice when Ian's head appears over the side of the hide-a-bed.

When he does see, he quickly lowers his hands and pushes himself up on one elbow.

"You okay?" he says softly.

Ian doesn't answer. For a moment they stare at each other in the dark, and then Ian clambers off of the bed. Salty is stunned when Ian comes toward him, his meaning unmistakable. For one crazy second Salty wonders if Ian is sleepwalking or something, but Ian is gazing right at him, looking nervous but determined.

Wordlessly, Salty lifts up the top flap of the big heavy-duty Coleman sleeping bag he uses for overnight hunting trips, and Ian crawls in, nudging up next to Salty.

"Couldn't really sleep up there," he mumbles.

Salty feels his heart beating fast. He doesn't know exactly what's allowed. Ian must know what it looks like. He must know how Salty is going to take Ian crawling in to sleep with him on his horrible leaky air mattress bed. It's been a long time since Salty's done anything with anyone but his right hand, and he can feel his blood rushing all around his body. _All_ around.

"Ian," Salty says, unable to help the almost panicky note to his voice. He feels a little out of control.

"Please," Ian says, and holy hell, that word can't mean anything but what Jarrod thinks it means, can it?

He reaches for Ian, resting his hand on Ian's ribcage, and he can feel it rising and falling rapidly. Ian stretches a little, arching into Salty's hand, and Salty thinks that must be the answer he's looking for.

So Salty leans down and kisses Ian right on the mouth. Ian opens up almost immediately, reaching up to hold Salty's face close. His mouth is so soft but eager, too, and when Salty touches his tongue he feels something like electricity go right down through the center of him.

He breaks away, breathing hard, and nudges his nose against Ian's, feeling Ian's rapid breaths and the way he's holding on to Salty. There's something about Ian that makes Salty feel fiercely protective. He wants to cover Ian up, keep him here always, in his arms, so close they're touching from head to foot.

Salty smiles, nudging his nose along Ian's cheek and bending his head down so he can kiss Ian's neck. His hand roves down Ian's body, coming to rest at Ian's hip, as if it has a will of its own. He's grateful, now, for all the practice that he had with other people, even Ashley, because this, this is what it was all for: showing Ian what it could be like, if they loved each other.

The basement muffles every sound except that of their close breathing, the tiny hitches in Ian's when Salty touches him somewhere new, Salty's sharp intake of air when he feels Ian's hand reach down into his briefs.

Salty knows he's hard, but that doesn't faze Ian, who wraps his hand around it. He's not shy, but something about the way he does it makes Salty think that he's never held another guy's dick before. Or maybe that's just the difference between what another guy's hand feels like compared to a girl's. Either way, it feels good.

"Holy fuck," Ian whispers. "You're huge. No wonder your teacher was willing to lose her job."

Salty laughs into the space between Ian's chin and his neck. "Believe me, my skills in the sack weren't anything to write home about."

"Are you better now?" Ian says, and Salty can tell he's smiling, too.

"You'll just have to stick around and find out for yourself," Salty says.

Ian plays with Salty's dick for a while, trying to figure out how to jerk someone off from the opposite side, and Salty is perfectly happy to let himself be Ian's test dummy. When he finally gets the hang of it all Salty can do is scrunch his eyes shut and lean into Ian, imagining that he's fucking something of Ian's that is much tighter than the circle Ian's making with his fist. He comes right there on top of Ian, but before he can even apologize Ian kisses him again, swallowing up Salty's remorse.

Salty thinks he should probably take it slow with Ian, but Ian is the one to push his own boxers down and kick them off. Salty moves his hand down to Ian's leg, the tips of his fingers resting on the soft skin of Ian's inner thigh. He's going to jerk Ian off in return but then Ian grabs hold of himself.

"You gonna let me watch you get yourself off?" Salty says, surprised and excited, his softened dick tingling a little painfully.

"Yeah," Ian breathes, "watch me with those fuckin' eyes--God, you see everything, don't you?" He sounds pained, but he's looking up at Salty pleadingly. Salty can't help reaching up to stroke Ian's face, his slightly dampened chest, down over his flat stomach, and then back to his thigh. He watches Ian pleasure himself to Salty's touching, watches Ian's eyes fall shut and his head turn toward Salty. This feels like the most intimate thing he's ever done with anyone, like the first time all over again. He wants to touch Ian everywhere, and Ian seems to welcome it, moving his hand faster and tipping his knees apart. Salty watches as Ian looks like he's getting close, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, and then he works up the nerve to touch Ian behind his balls.

The second he does Ian's eyes open wide in shock. His hand stutters but he doesn't let go, still breathing hard.

"That okay?" Salty says.

"Yeah," Ian says, in a kind of stifled moan. He starts pulling himself off again, so Salty touches him again, searching and pressing, and when he fingers Ian's hole Ian comes hard, gasping and spurting all over his hand and Salty's stomach.

He immediately rolls over away from Salty, covering his face with his arms, and makes a sound like a sob.

Salty doesn't know what to do for a moment. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe he shouldn't have let Ian--

"Sorry," Ian says, the distress in his voice making Salty feel terrible, but then he goes on. "It's just--I never thought I'd get to--I never thought I could have this. Not like this. It was always gonna be in some shitty bathroom stall or seedy motel--I wasn't brave enough," he gasps. "Jesus, sorry, I'm being--this has never happened to me before."

He's actually crying, Salty realizes, his words broken up by the involuntary movement of his diaphragm.

"Hey," Salty says impulsively, putting his hand to Ian's shoulder and pulling him back toward Salty. "I'm here," he whispers. "We ain't in no bathroom stall or seedy motel."

"I know," Ian says, but still won't look at Salty.

"I just wanted to make you feel good," Salty says sorrowfully, kissing Ian's forehead.

"You did," Ian says baldly, but his face looks so wrecked.

Salty chest hurts in sympathy. Ian must really be going through something. It is his first time, Salty realizes, and he'd probably been trying to pretend for a long time that he didn't want this.

"I'm not going anywhere," Salty says, gathering Ian close in his arms.

That seems to quiet Ian a little. He takes a long breath and seems to be trying to force himself to stop.

"Yeah, don't cry, baby. There's no reason to."

Ian's hiccuping stops abruptly. He looks up at Salty. "What did you just call me?"

"I called you baby," Salty says.

Then Ian starts laughing, a soggy but delightful peal of amusement that makes Salty smile involuntarily too. Ian curls up and nestles his head against Salty's body. "I'm one lucky motherfucker, aren't I?" he says.

"Are you?" Salty says, tucking Ian's head under his chin and stroking his back soothingly.

"So are you," Ian says, looking up, and his eyes are bright even in the dark. "Not many guys can pull off calling another dude 'baby.'"

"Well, get used to it," Salty says. "'Cause, baby, you'll be hearing it a lot from now on."

Ian just rests his hand on Salty's chest, running his fingers over the lettering on his t-shirt. He seems content, so Salty lets himself doze off, their combined weight proving too much for the air mattress, which has sunk completely flat.

*

In the morning Salty wakes up to Ian examining the "SALTY" tattoo on the back of his arm. He lets Ian study it for a while before surprising him by turning over quickly and trapping Ian underneath him. Ian is even softer and warmer in the morning, the humid, sleepy smell of him something ephemerally precious that Salty wishes he could bottle up and breathe in every time he needs to remember something good. They've made a mess of the sleeping bag and air mattress.

"We should've just slept up on the bed," Ian says sadly, writhing uncomfortably on top of a damp spot. "I don't know why we didn't."

"Didn't want to let go of you long enough to move up there," Salty says, leaning over to kiss the corner of Ian's pouty little frown.

They decide to get up and go for a run before breakfast since it's a beautiful morning. On their way back Salty can't resist reminding Ian that he carried him over his shoulder all the way from the Omega Chi house to the Lamdba Sig house, and because Ian doesn't believe him, Salty swoops down and picks Ian up again, hoisting him up over his shoulder to walk the short distance back to the house. They're both sweaty and disgusting but Ian doesn't seem to mind, hanging upside down and hitting Salty's ass with his fists, trying not to drool with laughter as Salty bounces him around.

Salty carries him right through the door that way, and his parents just smile indulgently, drinking coffee in their bathrobes. Justin gives them a weird look but Heather is eager to get out the door and go shopping, so he doesn't stick around for long.

"Put me down," Ian hisses, batting uselessly at Salty's back.

"Alright, alright," Salty says, lowering him to the ground.

"Good morning," Ian says to Salty's parents and grandparents, a little stiffly, and Salty can see he's feeling self-conscious again, so he ushers Ian off to shower before Ian can get too needlessly uncomfortable.

"Want me to get in the shower with you?" Salty says.

"Fuck off," Ian says, laughing but stern. "Your parents will hear."

After they shower Salty's mom makes them waffles and then Salty announces that he's going to take Ian to the beach.

"Take the dogs, too, will you?" his dad says, not looking up from his paper. "They need a good run."

The beach is kind of crowded, even in November, but they play with the dogs, getting their clothes soaking wet, and then lie in the sand side by side under the sun. For lunch they have disgusting corn dogs and kettle corn, and then they walk around town, sand coming out of all their orifices, the dogs on leashes. Salty buys Ian a pair of flip-flops and then also an ice cream sandwich, and when it starts to get dark they head back. Salty's mom heats leftovers for dinner and she and Heather talk for what seems like hours straight about all the stuff they bought and all the things they saw at the mall.

They watch a movie with Salty's parents that night but both Salty and Ian can barely contain their impatience for it to be over so they can descend into the basement again and roll around with each other uninterrupted.

The Saturday after Thanksgiving is traditionally a duck-hunting day in the Saltalamacchia household, so Salty, his dad and his brother all suit up in cammo and get their hunting gear ready. They have some old clothes that they let Ian borrow even though they're too big and baggy on his much slighter frame. Salty's dad drives the big pickup out to the lake, Ian squashed between Salty and his dad, Justin riding in the bed in back. Salty tries to prepare Ian for a day spent wading around in the mud and waiting. He teaches Ian how to shoot even though Ian doesn't have a license or anything, though this results in a very verbose lecture about gun safety and abiding by the law from Salty's dad. Ian's pretty bad at shooting but he seems to get a thrill out of holding the shotgun, which he tells Salty he's never done before.

They bag only three ducks, which Justin grumpily informs them is the result of all the racket Salty and Ian made horsing around, and Ian is revolted by the process of cleaning them up, but he keeps staring at Salty with wide eyes. Late that night when they're back in their basement cocoon, cleaned up and exhausted, Ian tells Salty how hot he looked in his cammo, a knife in his hand, even covered in swamp mud and duck guts. Salty laughs, but his amusement turns to awe when he realizes this means Ian wants to try sucking his cock.

Ian does, and even though there are a few hiccups, it's pretty damn awesome. Salty returns the favor and he holds Ian after, gratified that Ian is floppy and clingy and quietly blissful after he comes, rather than shaken and upset. Salty calls him baby a few times anyway, not just to make Ian laugh, but because there's something about the word that makes it feel like Ian is his, that he has the right to feel protective and desirous of Ian's attention. And maybe more than that.

Because Salty has realized, just like he always suspected, that Ian is different up close, so different from what he seemed to be from a distance. He's very easily amused, laughing at even the worst of Salty's jokes and eager to amuse Salty in turn. He's energetic and competitive but good-natured and easily impressed, and Salty doesn't think he'll ever get over how great it is to see Ian looking up at him, slightly awed and more than a little excited. But perhaps most surprising of all is that he is able to have a good time doing the silliest, most mundane things. Salty had thought maybe he had to impress Ian, take him surfing and sky diving or something, and in turn be willing to be dragged to horrible parties. Maybe he still will be, but he can see now that Ian is just as willing to be amused by watching a movie with Salty's parents as he is by the prospect of activities more likely to get their adrenaline pumping.

Salty sees all of this in the span of three days. But even so, on Sunday morning, Salty can't help feeling anxious. He wants to believe that what he saw this weekend was the real Ian, but maybe it's just fantasy Ian, the star of some idyllic montage out of a romantic movie, the displacement that Salty orchestrated just another new set for Ian to perform in front of.

Ian seems subdued as he sits at the breakfast table eating scrambled eggs. Salty is glad at least that although his dad has been a little harder to read when it comes to Ian, his mom seems to have liked Ian from the start, and she's treating him like a third son.

When it's time to go Salty's mom puts all of Salty's clean, folded laundry back in the hamper and gives both Salty and Ian a box of the cookies she baked the night before. Ian hugs her tightly and thanks her for having him to stay, saying that it was a fun weekend. He shakes hands with Salty's dad and pets all of the dogs on the head, scratching behind their ears.

Salty hugs all of them, sad to be leaving, and promises to call that night to let them know they got back to school safely.

"You're really close with your family, aren't you?" Ian says as they drive away.

"Yeah," Salty says. "First thing I'm gonna do when I can afford it is buy a house right here so I can see them every day."

"I get that," Ian says, staring out the window. Salty wants to ask Ian about his family but Ian seems distracted, so he lets it drop for now.

After a while Ian seems to snap back to the present, and he fiddles a lot with the music over the next couple of hours, trying to rap for Salty, which makes them both laugh, and then making Salty teach him a few country songs. They have a long discussion about Salty's plan to play baseball, and Ian talks a lot about not knowing what he wants to do with his life. They have to stop once for gas and once for lunch, and as they get closer to campus Ian gets quiet again.

"What are you thinking about?" Salty asks finally, when Ian's protracted silence makes him feel too anxious.

Ian turns to look back at him. "Things that need to change, I guess," he says.

"Like what kind of things?" Salty says.

"Like pretty much everything," Ian says. "Hearing you talk about your plan--I want something like that, too."

"You'll figure it out," Salty says. "And I'll help you."

The truth is he wants to give Ian a reason to need him beyond this weekend. Ian needed Salty on Wednesday night, and he needed Salty because Salty gave him an escape. But now they're back to the real world, to a world where Ian doesn't need Salty, where he has a hundred other places and people to look to. Salty wants to be there for Ian. Now that he knows what it's like to be needed by someone the way Ian needed him, Salty doesn't know if he can ever go back to how things were before.

Ian just smiles slightly and looks back out the window.

"Okay," Salty says when they pull up in front of the Omega Chi house. "Here we are."

Ian reaches over and touches Salty's hand briefly. Salty wants to kiss him goodbye but he knows that won't happen here.

"I've gotta take care of some things," Ian says. "Figure some stuff out."

"Yeah, I understand," Salty says, his smile feeling strained.

Ian's face softens a little bit. "You don't know how much this weekend meant to me," he says. "I'll never forget it."

Salty wonders if Ian is saying some kind of goodbye.

"I'm here for you. Babe," he tacks on weakly, trying to make it sound like a joke.

Ian smiles and ducks his head, getting out of the car. Salty watches him walk up the sidewalk and disappear into the house.

He gets back to his own house and sees the usual people trickling in, coming in and out. Tommy won't be back until tomorrow morning, so the room is empty. He dumps his stuff down, putting away his laundry neatly, and goes downstairs to get a bowl of cereal from the kitchen. He parks himself in front of the big TV in the common room, watching SportsCenter and pouring more cereal from the box occasionally. He has a paper due at the end of the week that he should probably start on at some point, he thinks, feeling a little gloomy.

Not even five minutes later he hears the front door open and a bunch of voices greeting someone loudly. There are hand slaps and some shit-talking, but Salty doesn't pay any attention until he feels a hand ruffling his hair.

He turns around, astonished, just in time to see Ian step over the back of the couch and plop himself down next to Salty.

"Can I have some?" he says.

Salty wordlessly hands Ian his bowl, and Ian takes a big bite, his legs crossed. Two other Lambda Sigs, Dan and Jed, follow Ian in and sit down, asking him how his break was.

"Fuckin' great, bitches. Was good to get away from here," he says, and then flashes a significant look at Salty, just for a second.

"Did you hear about CJ drawing on Dutch's face after he passed out at the party on Wednesday?" Dan says. "He used some kind of ink that no one could get off and he had to go home to his parents' with the word Buttfucker in big black letters across his forehead."

Ian laughs readily enough, but he shifts almost imperceptibly closer to Salty on the couch, and it's all Salty can do not to put his arm around Ian.

They talk for a while, Salty mostly just listening, and then when the guys turn to the TV, arguing about something they saw on the ticker, Ian turns to Salty.

"Your roommate back tonight?" he says quietly.

"Nope," Salty says, grinning. "You wanna spend the night?"

"Yeah," Ian says.

The other guys ask Ian to weigh in on their argument, and Salty sits back, stretching his legs out, the warmth of Ian's body at his side making all the difference in the world.


End file.
